


Acclimation

by AmnesiacFloozy (AlleyCatSunflower)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Awkwardness, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Developing Friendships, Distrust, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Golden Deer Petra Macneary, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Prejudice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 04:21:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29326161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleyCatSunflower/pseuds/AmnesiacFloozy
Summary: As the first student to transfer houses during the school year, Petra Macneary is going through more than her fair share of trouble. She's never been close to most of the Black Eagles, and the Golden Deer don't seem as welcoming as she hoped, either. In fact, on their very first day of class, Lorenz is determined to civilize her… but fortunately, her new house leader isn't about to let her deal with his elitist condescension alone.T for canon-typical profanity.
Relationships: Petra Macneary & Claude von Riegan, Petra Macneary & Lorenz Hellman Gloucester
Comments: 3
Kudos: 22





	Acclimation

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I have a thing for writing Petra's early-stage friendships in other houses, and/or support conversations that don't exist. So sue me, I guess.

Changing classes is more of a struggle than Petra thought.

She was only following her heart, which told her that this new professor—with all their worldly experience—could teach her much more than anyone else. They have the appearance of a young man, but she has heard that they wish to be thought of as neither man nor woman. Some don't understand, but Petra does. A body is only a body; a soul is what matters most. Such are the teachings of the spirits in Brigid: 'he' and 'she' are not separate words.

But, being the first student to transfer classes this year, Petra underestimated the difficulties that came along with it. Hubert says she must answer to her actions on a diplomatic level, and claims he is joking, but Petra knows that he is not. Edelgard says she may do whatever she likes, with an air of forgiveness for some unknown sin, but her eyes are more watchful than usual.

As for the other Black Eagles, they speak to Petra no more or less than usual, though they seem to keep more of a distance. It is almost as though she has never truly been in their class. Dorothea, kind and talkative and over-familiar, is the only one who has truly lent her support, and has continued to speak with her regularly. At least Petra knows she can go to her if she wishes for comfort.

She may have to do so, because even in the new class, not all is well.

The Professor welcomed her, as she hoped they might, but over the course of their first study session all together, most others have been somewhat warier. Ignatz and Raphael are both kind in their way—it seems of no concern to them that Petra is from Brigid—but while Ignatz is painfully shy, Raphael is a little too bold. She has little in common with either, though their interactions have at least been friendly thus far.

Similarly, Leonie is pleasant enough, but has been too busy with her own work to talk much, and does not have the greatest patience when it comes to misunderstandings. As for Marianne, she seems gentle of heart, but keeps so firmly to herself that Petra cannot see past her shell. She wishes she could take her shield and put it over Hilda, who is so uninterested in class that Petra cannot help but question why she is there at all. She seems both passionless and frivolous, trying to sneak glimpses of others' answers instead of writing her own during a pop quiz, and Petra does not understand why some of the others let her.

More than once during that class, Petra has seen Lorenz casting looks at her. She does not like those looks, because it is difficult for her to read them; the most she can tell is that they are not quite friendly. But she prefers that ambiguity to being able to see, with perfect clarity, how much Lysithea dislikes her. All through class, she repeated Petra's words back to her in a different order, her tone too cold and her eyes too steely for Petra to believe that she was trying to be helpful.

But Petra has resolved not bother the Professor with her petty conflicts. In the eyes of those who discriminate, requiring outside assistance is a sign of weakness; she knows that all too well. She has dealt with much worse on her own, and the others will grow used to her presence eventually, as did the Black Eagles. Perhaps some of them may even become friends.

Class ends, and Claude stays behind to speak with the Professor. Seeking fresh air, Petra departs, all the others talking amongst themselves as they head out and to the dining hall.

Except Lorenz.

"Petra," he says, and she turns to look at him, seeing the usual distant smile on his face. "A moment, if you please."

Petra's heart trembles, and she makes an effort to steady herself. "What are you wanting with me?" she asks, following him to the courtyard green, keeping her voice as steady and calm as she can. She ought not fear a classmate, but she cannot shake the sense that she has done something wrong, and that he seeks to correct her.

Lorenz smiles. "I know we have been acquainted before, but allow me to introduce myself again, this time as an esteemed member of your new house." He bows with a flourish. "I am Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, and leadership of the Alliance will someday fall to me. It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

As Lorenz reaches for Petra's hand, she snatches it away automatically. Though he says nothing in response, he looks somewhat disgruntled, his narrow eyes narrowing still further and searching her face for an explanation. Perhaps Petra had better say something, in the hopes that Lorenz will understand that she does _not_ understand. "You have need for my hand?"

Lorenz's expression clears, as though all has been explained to him. "Ah, of course. I should have known that the people of Brigid may not share such civilized traditions."

Petra mistrusts the word _civilized_ —whenever anyone has used it, they have inevitably thought that Brigid is inferior—but she is too curious about the culture of Fódlan to end the conversation and distance herself just yet. "Traditions?"

"In Fódlan, a gentleman may kiss the back of a lady's hand as a gesture of respect," says Lorenz, and Petra frowns. Respect? What about kisses is respectful? One would think conversation would be more so. "During an introduction, such as this one, or in parting. Please, permit me to demonstrate."

Lorenz reaches for Petra's hand again, but she eyes him warily, taking a step back. He has little respect for her, whatever his lips say, so she need not humor him, as long as she remains… civil. ( _Civilized_ , thinks Petra again, wishing she did not know its implications.) "In Brigid, meetings and partings have no kisses."

"But you are no longer in Brigid," says Lorenz, blinking a few times as if surprised. "Come now, my lady. If no other gentleman has offered you such recognition during your time here, it is only because they lack my refinement. Surely you can have no objections to such a magnanimous gesture of good will?"

"I…" Lorenz's lengthy words make Petra's head spin, and she hesitates. Whatever he means by that, a response is required and, for the sake of diplomacy, it had better be a delicate one. "I have gratitude for your kindness, but… I am not needing a… a kiss." Only family members have ever kissed her before, whether hand or lips.

"Very well," says Lorenz, though looks displeased. "Will you at least join me for tea?"

Given his behavior toward her thus far, Petra doubts that he has no ulterior motives. "Are you seeking friendship?"

"But of course," says Lorenz, and though his expression is earnest, his eyes are sly. "It is the duty of every young noble here to establish amicable connections amongst one another, that Fódlan may prosper in the future. And Brigid too, of course," he adds, though says it like an afterthought. "To that end, I wish to know more about you."

Talking to Lorenz is making Petra's head hurt. "What are you wanting to know?"

Lorenz must not have expected the question, because his smile freezes for a moment before he chuckles. "Why, as much as you wish to tell me, of course. Perhaps we could start with your own introduction?"

"Already, you have awareness of who I am."

"Yes," says Lorenz, an undercurrent of tension in his voice, and Petra presses her lips together. She said the wrong thing again. "But, as I reintroduced myself just now, I had hopes you might do the same. So that we may start off on the right foot, so to speak."

Petra glances down at her right foot, then at Lorenz's. Are they supposed to go somewhere? She hasn't accepted his invitation for tea yet, and has no idea what else this might have to do with their feet, whether right or left.

Lorenz must be able to read her expression. "I _meant_ that, to ensure a stronger friendship, we might…" Rather than finish his explanation, he sighs, and the sound is sharp. "Never mind. I see that even simple introductions are beyond your comprehension. Fortunately for you, I am more than willing to lend you my services as a language tutor. You need only ask."

Petra straightens up to her full height of almost a foot shorter than Lorenz, scowling at his condescension. "There are many other people who are… who may teach me." The Professor, for one, who kindly allowed her to join their class.

Shaking his head, Lorenz tuts at Petra. "You have ample beauty, and your regal bearing is truly befitting of a princess, but it seems your mind is sealed shut." Petra's scowl deepens; even Lorenz's compliments feel more like insults. "Still, generous as I am, the offer stands. You may find me whenever you change your mind."

"Lorenz," says a voice, half interrupting. Claude's. Petra turns to find him sauntering toward them, the classroom door swinging shut behind him. "Are you bothering our new classmate?"

"Bothering?" echoes Lorenz, frowning. "Oh, no, no. I was merely trying to introduce myself." He looks at Petra with a strange expression, like disgust and pity intertwined. "Alas, even after some years in the Empire, she is still determined to ignore the conventions of Fódlan. In her current state, I daresay the usual pleasantries are utterly wasted on her."

"Oh?" asks Claude, raising his eyebrows. "Then why are you still talking to her?"

Lorenz stops short. "I…"

"Go on now, move along," says Claude, giving a smile that does not reach his eyes. "If there are any more pleasantries to waste on Her Highness, they're mine." At the sound of a title she has heard only rarely, Petra feels herself flush. Being called something like _Her Highness_ flusters her, perhaps because it happens so rarely. Lorenz, meanwhile, wavers in place a moment, clearly deliberating over taking the order, but then turns and leaves without another word.

As soon as his back retreats around a corner, Claude heaves a sigh. "So much for obeying the chain of command," he says, turning back to Petra. "Last I looked, I outrank him. And you, Princess, outrank us both."

Petra shakes her head. "At the monastery, I am… we all have equality."

"Well, Lorenz clearly doesn't think so, if he's talking down to you like that," says Claude, then seems to catch sight of something, his eyes lingering on Petra's face. She lifts a hand to touch her marking, trying to think how to explain its prayer, but he only says, "You're blushing. Embarrassed?"

Petra can't see herself, but she can feel even more heat rising to her cheeks as she struggles for words. This particular phrase, and its usage, always trips her up. "I am not… youstoo… being called the name of Princess. Or Highness."

"Really?" asks Claude, sounding curious. "Didn't you grow up in Brigid?"

Petra bows her head. "Brigid is my land of home, but I knew it for ten years only," she says, the familiar pang of sadness gripping her heart before she releases it again. It has been less painful lately, though much of it is simply because of time. "The war took my father from me, and I was sent to the Empire."

"Damn," says Claude, looking at Petra with new eyes, though she cannot guess his thinking. It seems almost like he is appraising her, but it feels less calculating than the way Lorenz was looking at her. "How old are you, anyway, if you don't mind my asking?"

Claude tilts his head, his braid swinging a little, and Petra can't help but admire it. (His hairstyle reminds her of some she's seen back home.) But she moves her eyes back to Claude's face. "This year is my sixteenth, under the next Horsebow Moon."

"Oh, wow," says Claude, looking taken aback. "No wonder Lysithea was glaring at you." Petra doesn't even have time to express her confusion before Claude adds, "She just turned fifteen, herself. Sick of people treating her like a child, to hear her tell it. But maybe if she didn't _act_ like one all the time…" He trails off, shaking his head. "Point is, she could actually learn a lot from you. If I had to guess, I'd say she's envious."

Petra blinks. "Why would she be envious to me?"

"I hate to agree with Lorenz on just about anything, but you _are_ a lovely young lady," says Claude, and Petra wonders exactly how much of their conversation he overheard. "Not that Lysithea isn't, of course, but you come off more… mature." He gestures vaguely to Petra's entire self, and she looks down, trying to see what he means. "That's the kind of look she's going for."

"Oh," is all Petra can think of to say, looking back up at Claude again—still not understanding fully, but not about to press the matter. "I had no intention of making her envious."

"Not a lot that can be done about it, anyway," says Claude, shrugging. "She'll get over it whenever she grows up a little. In the meantime, if you need someone to talk to, you have me. And Teach."

"Teach?" asks Petra. "Who is teaching?"

"That's just what I call the Professor," says Claude, and Petra nods. It must be a nickname. "They're not _that_ much older than us, so I figure it's best to strike a balance between formality and… uh, casualness."

Petra smiles. "This language can give difficulty even to the people who speak it well."

"Well, yeah," says Claude. "I'd wager you've slipped up once or twice in your native language too, right?" Petra nods, recalling more than a few instances. "It's like that for me, too. I grew up speaking more than one language, myself, and I still get tongue-tied."

"Tongue-tied," says Petra, smile widening as she imagines it. "Sounds uncomfortable." But she sobers quickly, unable to help but be self-conscious when she thinks of her own speaking skills. "Already, my tongue is tied. People have talk that I am hard to be… hard to understand." She is all too aware that, despite the diligence of her studies and her complete immersion in the culture of Fódlan here at the monastery, she has yet to grasp the complexities of the spoken language.

Claude raises his eyebrows. "What a coincidence. Me too."

"You?" asks Petra, astonished. "But you have… dexterity, with your words. They come out sounding clear and in order." She smiles, hoping that joking will not be taken amiss. "Even if you say them with much casualness."

"Why, thank you, Princess," says Claude, returning her smile with a wink that disarms her. "But understanding the language is only half of it. My words make sense, but there's more to communication than speech. There's also body language and facial expression." It's all Petra can do to keep up, but she thinks she understands. "They can't always read mine, and truth be told, I like it that way."

"You are keeping secrets?"

"Hey, everyone has secrets," says Claude. "Mine just happen to be highly desirable, for some reason. People are just dying to know whatever I'm not telling them, so they get mad when they can't figure it out. But as for you…" He looks at Petra, who feels like he's seeing right through her. "You might not quite have the language down yet, but you're honest. Maybe _too_ honest."

"I did not have knowledge that too much honesty is possible," says Petra, alarmed.

Claude chuckles, and maybe it's his relaxed posture or his friendly tone, but Petra doesn't feel like her phrasing is being ridiculed for once. "I just mean, you're pretty easy to read. I won't use it against you, but other people might."

Petra nods. So Claude is trying to warn her. "I will have caution."

"Good," says Claude, his eyes turning more serious. "All this to say… don't let people like Lorenz ruin the Golden Deer for you, all right? Anyone gives you trouble, anyone at all, come to me."

Petra eyes Claude somewhat warily. It's better to go to him than to the Professor, but he must know that sometimes seeking help causes more problems than solutions. "I have gratitude."

"Oh, don't look at me like that," says Claude, and Petra realizes that her feelings really must be more obvious than she thinks (or perhaps Claude is simply more perceptive than most). "I won't _do_ anything about it if you don't want. Or at least, not in a way that'll let them know it's me." Petra has no time to process what he said before he continues, "The way I see it, it's fine if people don't like other people. I'm not best buddies with everyone, myself. But people should at least dislike each other for who they are, not where they're from."

It sounds like a backwards sentiment, but it's also something Petra agrees with, so she nods. "I have desire that… we all should get along."

"I wish the world worked that way," says Claude, letting out a brief sigh. "But as it is, outsiders like us gotta stick together." Outsiders? Is Claude not from the Alliance? Petra purses her lips thoughtfully, considering how she might ask him such a thing, but does not have the chance. "Anyway, I'd love to stay and chat some more, but I have things to do. House leader duties, and all." Claude raises a hand in farewell, already turning away. "Be seeing you, Petra."

"Yes, I am seeing you too," says Petra politely, unsure what he means.

Turning to face her as he walks backward, Claude laughs. It's a lovely, sincere sound, and Petra feels warmer, not only from embarrassment but at his open friendliness. No one else has treated her so… normally… before. Even Dorothea does not have such ease around her, though their acquaintance has spanned longer, and she is very kind. "It's another phrase for 'goodbye', saying we'll meet again soon."

"Oh!" says Petra, smiling, and waves tentatively as Claude turns around again. "Be seeing you, Claude."

Claude waves back without looking, disappearing around the corner, and Petra watches him go, feeling a little lighter inside. Perhaps she will grow accustomed to life in this house sooner than she thought.


End file.
